Z's Christmas Party Surprise

Before I met and married Z, my wife of 28 years, I was married to Sharon while I was in college and right after. While I was still in graduate school Sharon went to work for a local high tech company where she was a secretary to a top manager named Pete. Pete was almost 20 years older than we were and a very sophisticated guy, an executive at this important company (you'd recognize the name of it if I could risk putting it here).

I was consumed in my work as a graduate student in those days, but Sharon and I had some chance to do social things with her company, and with Pete in particular. I wanted to go into the industry Pete's company was in when I was done, so I thought Pete would be a good connection. Sharon, inevitably, became very interested in these outings, which were pretty high-end affairs, and I noticed she was more and more attentive, almost seductive, with Pete, who had a kind of casual way of making it seem natural.

To get to the point, it wasn't long before Pete was fucking Sharon, of course, which was hard for me to take, but probably aroused or confirmed in me a latent interest in the cuckold-type relationship, although I didn't realize it at the time. With Sharon that wasn't manifested, although when I found out Sharon was fucking him, it was hard not to notice I was as aroused as sad about it. But it wasn't long before Sharon announced she was going to leave me for Pete, with plans to get married.

The fact that it had happened was pretty common knowledge among my friends, and it was pretty humiliating to have everyone know Pete was fucking my wife, but it was still hard on me when she left—losing a spouse stings no matter what else is true. But because I didn't have to be around them after she moved out, I got over it and went on, finished my degree, and left the city within a year to start in the high tech industry (in another company). Pete and Sharon left soon after that when he got another job at a different company in another city. I kept track of them, mostly through announcements at his company and with once a year calls on her birthday and things like that. As it turns out, they never did get married because Pete was always fucking around with other women, and eventually Sharon got tired of that, but Sharon was with him all through the next two or three years. I got a little satisfaction from knowing from Sharon that things might not be going too well for them as a couple.

About a year after I finished grad school I met Z, and we got married and fairly quickly started real cuckolding, this time with my explicit consent—it was actually my idea—from our first date. About a year after that, amazingly, Pete got hired as a Vice President by the company I was working for to replace my boss's boss. The only salvation in that situation, and the reason I didn't immediately quit, is that the timing of this was good in another way—Sharon had just left Pete for another man she had met and wasn't around, so Pete was sort of in the same boat I was.

Pete and I actually sort of became friendly over that shared humiliation in a jocular kind of way, but there was always this adversarial edge too. Pete met Z, of course, and Z was aware of the whole situation with Sharon and Pete because we had talked about all of that, and how it made me feel, very early on in our relationship.

Pete had a Christmas party at his house that year after he had been with the company for about nine months. Z and I went to the party with Z dressed to the nines, sexy in a black mid-calf silk dress with spaghetti straps. I could see that she hadn't worn a bra under it—her beautifully-formed nipples showed where they touched the silk in front. As we pulled up just past Pete's house to park down the street, she also let me know that she had on a garter belt and stockings instead of pantyhose, and that she had worn one of her nicest pair of underpants, teasing me with, "Unless you want me to take those off now." I just smiled and shook my head no. Z always wore her underpants over her garters so they could be pulled down whenever we wanted to, so she could flash in public, or let someone fuck her.

"Oh, well," she continued, and gave me one of her smiles, the kind that told me she had something on her mind, as I maneuvered into the parking spot. She often did this, engaging in a little flashing at parties, so I assumed that's what was in store for me that night—it was the kind of thing she knew I liked—and even in this setting, with business colleagues, there was very little harm in it since, obviously, everyone would have had a little to drink and because Z had become very good at making such over exposure look kind of accidental. I was actually looking forward to it.

But as we walked up the street toward the sidewalk to Pete's house, things turned in a different direction. Z asked me, as we turned up the walk, "Am I a better fuck than Sharon was?"

That was an easy question. "Of course you are—amazingly better!" and it was true. Z is truly incredible—the best and wettest cunt in the world, the hottest fuck on earth.

She continued, more softly, as we proceeded up the long walk surrounded by a lovely garden, "It kind of hurts my feelings a little that Pete might think I'm second best to Sharon—that you settled for me only because she left you for him."

"That's crazy!" I replied, genuinely surprised. "That was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me," I insisted. "If Sharon hadn't left me, I might not have met you at all."

"I know," Z answered, "but I don't think Pete would really understand that, or even believe it, do you? We were half way up the walk.

"Well, he'd be nuts to think that," I answered, assuming that would be the end of it.

Z was quiet for a second, but just as we reached the steps she followed with, "I can think of a way for him to know I'm better than Sharon."

"How?" I answered, but even as I said it I got that familiar feeling in my stomach—it had dawned on me just exactly how Pete might learn that Z was right, and I already knew that Z was very attuned to what would push my buttons. So I was half horrified and half aroused as I waited for her answer.

"Well," Z said, as we reached the landing in front of the door, "We could let Pete fuck me. Then he'd know for sure, wouldn't he?" And she squeezed my arm a little.

I had known it was coming, really, but hearing it out loud, I was aghast, my stomach hollow and my heart racing. But my cock had jumped to attention and I had to reach down and adjust myself to keep it from catching in an uncomfortable position. All I could think of was to try to buy a bit of time. "That may not be such a good idea," I told her. And even the part of me that was hard for it didn't think it was a good idea.

But Z just knows what to do, and say. Z half-turned toward me. "It is too a good idea, "she insisted. "Don't you want Pete to know that I'm better than Sharon? And that even though I am, I'm going to stay with you? Don't you want him to know that? Wouldn't that be a kind of vindication for you? And it's not like it would be anything different for us—you like it when other men fuck me."

My cock had turned rigid in my pants—Z is amazingly clever about this, turning having another man fuck her into a victory for me of sorts. And I had to admit there was some sense in what she said. But I still didn't really want it to happen with Pete, and certainly not that night. Even if Z was going to do it, I wanted a chance to think about it. Of course, deep inside I did want it—that's what the butterflies in my stomach were about, and Z knew it; in retrospect maybe both of us knew it.

Z made the obvious point, "Pete will never know for sure that I'm better than Sharon unless he actually fucks me too. Right? Wouldn't it make you feel proud that I stay with you even after he fucks me?"

I couldn't dodge the feeling I now suddenly had. It was perverse, but I did want him to know that. Z knew just how to do this, had probably been planning it for some time. It might be strange for most guys to be proud of having their wife fuck another man, but Z knew me. She was right—I wanted it. But I still wasn't prepared for it right at that moment, and told her so. I said I understood, and even agreed, but that I wanted to wait a few days to talk about it, and to think how to do it. It was just too scary, too unsettling an idea to spring on me right at his door.

But Z has always known how to handle these things, and she has always said there's no time like right now. "No, Larson. This is something that needs to happen, and we should just do it. There's no sense delaying it." Her hand went to the front of my pants as she reached out to ring the doorbell, and she could feel the huge hard-on that had sprung up as we talked. "I can see you like the idea, and I'm ready. This needs to happen soon—tonight is best, I think. Is that OK?" She didn't wait for an answer. "I think I should ask Pete to fuck me as soon as I get a private moment with him at the party—I'll look at you when I've done it so you'll know, and I'll tell him I want it to happen tonight, near the end, when not many people are there."

I was reeling already, but that last phrase set off new alarm bells. "What do you mean,

near

the end? You mean while there are still people here?"

Z just smiled. "Lots of people knew Pete was fucking Sharon, and that might have contributed to how hot it was for Pete. You don't want me to be at a disadvantage in making him cum, do you? Don't you think some of the people here should know Pete has fucked me? Maybe even see it?"

My heart was pounding in my chest, and I told her no, that I didn't think that was a good idea. That was really too much. But my cock betrayed my real feelings, and Z just smiled, squeezing it a little, and said, "Let me just handle it. It'll be fine. It'll just be one or two people who will know." And then she looked up at me with a look that was half scold and half tease. "And, Larson, I do expect you to take it like a man—you have to let them see it's OK with you, to see you act like you want it, that it's your idea, or it will be worse for you, don't you think? Tell me yes."

I felt myself flushing, but Z tugged gently on my hand and raised her eyebrows, demanding confirmation. "OK," I whispered hoarsely, although I could hardly believe I was saying it. I was scared out of my wits, but so amazed at what Z was saying that I couldn't help myself. And then it hit me that I hadn't brought anything for protection. "Did you bring a condom?" I asked.

She turned slightly toward me again, "No," she answered softly, looking up at me and touching me with the hand that wasn't stroking my cock. "Pete didn't use condoms with Sharon, did he? He needs to feel his cock in me, and I need to feel him squirt inside me, and you do too."

Before I could object, or say anything else at all, the door opened and we were inside in the swirl of the party. It was crowded and loud, with people drinking quite a bit and carrying on as people do at Christmas parties. All evening I had a knot in my stomach, watching, waiting, glancing around continuously at them both, wondering when she was going to do it. I circulated, trying to keep a grip on my feelings as I watched Z make the rounds.

Z is gorgeous, and at 25 at the time, stiffened every guy's cock--5'7", 132, 36B-25-35, with dark brown hair and chocolate eyes; she was the center of attention in her unbelievably sexy dress, her nipples showing through the fabric. She got subtly fondled more than once as she said her hellos and hugged people from my office.

Eventually she found her way over to Pete, who was holding court near the bar, and I watched her chat amiably with him and the others, laughing. I saw him look at her nipples, and run his gaze up and down. And then I saw her touch his elbow and lean in toward his ear. He nodded and a second later the two of them drifted away slightly, toward the back wall next to the bar.

I know exactly when she told him, when she let him know he could fuck her. He looked up at her with a start, and then he glanced around until he found me watching him. He smiled and nodded. They chatted a bit more, he hugged her and gave her a little peck on the cheek, and then they both wandered off. But I knew. I knew Pete would be inside my wife, the second of my wives he would fuck, before the night was out.

It was more than an hour and a half latter when the party was winding down that they connected again, spoke briefly, and then Z walked back over to me. We were both watching as, one after another, people and couples came up to Pete to say thanks, and Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year, and goodnight. Pete smiled over at me and nodded as one of the last couples approached him. And as they walked toward the door, I looked around to see just five of us, Z, Pete, and me, and two other men from the office, John and Tim, both of them unattached—no dates. They both worked directly for Pete, a level above me in the company's hierarchy.

Z looked up at me, and smiled. "Are you ready?" But she didn't wait for an answer, looking directly over at Pete and nodding. He motioned to us almost imperceptibly from across the room where he was talking to John, and nodded back. As we walked over toward him she looked up at me lovingly. "Be a good boy about it. It's time." My heart leapt into my throat, and my cock throbbed.

I was scared shitless and couldn't say a thing, but Z just reached out, patted me on the arm, and said, "It'll be fine. You'll be glad it happened. Be a good boy and it'll be nice for everyone. And remember, if you're a big boy about it, it will be better for you—make it look like your idea and I'll be proud of you. Remember, it's best if you take it like a man." That phrase again. Pretty interesting idea, taking it like a man, considering that she was meant to be taken by another man.

And then we were next to Pete. He reached in behind her, putting his arm around her waist and looked right at me. Z looked up at me and, reaching behind her back with her inside arm, took my wrist and removed my arm from around her. She patted my hand and put it down at my side. Without another word, as if he knew he was entitled, Pete turned her around, put his arms around her, and kissed her on the mouth. Not a Christmas kiss, either—a deep and intimate one. Z opened her mouth to take his tongue and arched her back to lean back a bit for him so he held her weight, her arms falling to her sides in submission.

I stepped around behind them so I could see better. I was hard as a rock even though I had my heart in my throat. I glanced around at John and Tim and saw that they had stopped talking and were staring at Pete and Z. I know I flushed red—they were going to see her submit to him, to let him fuck her—but it was just too erotic to stop, and too hot not to watch. I turned back toward Z and Pete and watched as his hand went to her breasts, fondling them through the thin fabric of her dress.

Pete didn't waste any time. He unzipped Z's dress from the back and stepped back, lifting the straps off her shoulders and holding them suspended for a moment while his fingers grazed her beautiful skin. He looked at me with a small knowing smile and I found myself nodding assent to what he was about to do.

He dropped the straps, Z shrugging them off so that her dress fell away from her shoulders and then dropped over her hips. She was standing there nude except for her panties, stockings, heels, and garter belt, her small breasts exposed for Pete, and for Tim and John to see, her nipples rigid with arousal.

Pete didn't miss a beat. He knelt down and, taking Z's panties at the waistband, drew them down over her bottom and thighs, exposing her pubic mound with its dark downy hair—and I saw, as Pete helped her balance to step out of them by putting his hand on the inside of her thigh, that she had trimmed her mound so that there was just a small oval patch showing—obviously she had been planning this.

I knew it would be seconds now before Pete was inside her, and I felt the burning mixture of terrible shame overwhelming arousal at how much I wanted to see his cock slide up inside her, to see her cum for him while he shot his seed in her. I was aware of John and Tim watching, but was way beyond embarrassment at that now. Z was nude in front of all of them, and they knew what was going to happen now too. It was too late to stop it.

Pete put his hands around her small waist and turned her sideways, walking her backwards toward the couch that separated the living room from the foyer. Z bumped against the back of it and Pete held her as she gently arched her back over it, almost like they had practiced it. She bent her neck and held herself on the seat with her arms spread wide for balance. As Pete lifted and spread her legs Z helped him position her bottom so that he would have access to her opening.

Pete unzipped his pants and asked Z, "Are you ready for it?"

Z nodded and opened her legs even wider, exposing her cunt and bottom for him, the most agonizing and amazing thing I have ever seen, displaying herself for him, showing the gaping pinkness of her cunt, which was wet and splayed open. Pete put two fingers inside her and withdrew them, bringing them to his nose and then licking them. He put his middle finger into her anus and stroked in and out. Z let out a soft moan.

She held herself open that way for agonizing seconds while Pete dropped his pants and underwear and shuffled into position between her legs. She was so wide open we could all see how wet she was, how ready for his thrust, how much she wanted what was going to happen to her.

Pete looked back at me, sort of smiling again, and asked, "Are

you

ready for it, Larson?" I felt myself burning with two emotions, but I managed a nod. That was enough. Pete said, "I love fucking your wives." And then he looked at Tim and John and winked at them. "Look how wet she is for it, how much she wants it," he said to them, spreading her lips open with his fingers and rubbing his cock up and down on her sopping slit while Z lifted her hips to try to take it inside her, her breathing telling how ready she was.

And that was it. Without another word, without a wasted motion, he aimed the head of his cock into the gaping opening of Z's cunt at a slightly steeper angle and slid it all the way up into her in one stroke, encunting her completely. Z let out a little moan, "Oh, yes. Fuck me." I could see her tilt her hips, pushing back a little to take his thrust, to help him thrust into her all the way. And then they were fucking, Pete alternately pulling back and then slamming his cock into her, Z rocking her hips with each stroke to give him full access to her insides. You could hear the soft shimmering sound of their slickness as Pete drove himself into her, his little grunts as he took over my wife's belly and womb, her moans of acceptance at his invasion of her womb.

Z clearly enjoyed it as much as Pete did—you could hear her soft whimperings as his cock speared in and out of her vagina—and they were for real: Z is not into phony sound effects, ever, and you can tell. I stood there, with Tom and John watching too, fascinated, aroused, throbbing. And humiliated.

It didn't take long for Pete to make my wife's womb his. Soon their rhythm changed imperceptibly, getting faster, the silky shimmering of his strokes into her a little louder. And then Pete gave her several sharp, powerful strokes pulling Z's hips hard up against himself, holding it deep inside her a little longer, almost an imperceptible pause on each deep thrust. Z's moans on each of these hard strokes became more plaintive, longing, wanton. "I'm going to cum," Pete whispered hoarsely.

"Yes! Come inside me," Z answered, and Pete grunted. I knew he was pumping his load into her, each pulse accompanied by another deep hard stroke. Z let loose with a huge moan, "Oh, God, yes, fuck it into me—fuck your sperm in me!" And then she convulsed herself, the two of them lost in an amazing orgasm that lasted for stroke after stroke and he sprayed his semen insider my wife's most intimate cavity.